Broken
by saoirseronans
Summary: "I am not an ivory statue, with no emotions or opinions. I'm a person. And sooner or later, I'm going to break..." Clato based AU. Started as drabble but is now possibly multi-chapter. Rated K for language and potential for sexual implications. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there, nice to meet you and thank you for taking the time to read my story. This started out as a little drabble based on a picture of Isabelle Fuhrman that came out recently and well...it evolved into this. I'm still unsure as to whether I should continue it; would you mind giving an opinion? Any kind of review makes my day, positive or negative :) Thanks again!**

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I hate my life.

I know I really shouldn't be saying that. After all, I am obviously extremely lucky, very privileged, I should be so grateful etc. etc. I've heard it all. There's nothing they haven't told me yet that's supposed to make me humble and to be honest, none of it has worked. I suppose not everything in my new, and apparently improved life, is bad. I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't enjoy the feel of the luxurious satins and silks that brushed against my skin as I walked, or the looks of mixed respect and fear that were thrown my way as I walked down the streets, the beautifully crafted weapons that could be mailed to me within twenty four hours. All were wonderful perks, but what I liked the most was the strange warm sensation that burned through my body as I opened the apartment door and saw his silhouette against the wall, waiting for me. That was the best.

Right now though, sitting upright in a straight-backed, cold ivory carved chair, I feel as if I have every reason to despise my very existence. Capitol parties disgust me. The unrealistically long table with the hand embroidered silken table cloth seems stupidly trivial and the people dressed in bright, sparkly dresses and suits are talking too loudly, laughing too falsely. The walls around me are painted so carefully they could have been a photograph, a beautifully edited, colours muted photograph depicting scenes of myths and legends from long ago. I'm trying not to look too closely. I think the painter has incorporated President Snow's face into several of the figures.

I fidget, my short black leather dress sticking awkwardly to the backs of my thighs, and pick up what I think is the right fork for whatever meal has been placed in front of me. My mentor, Lucia, glances up at me from across the table and her ridiculously shaped eyebrows practically fly off her face in horror as she shakes her head furiously. I scowl and drop the fork as if it's made of red hot iron. The metal clatters against the porcelain of my bowl, causing all the guests to look up from their conversations like startled rabbits.

'Sorry,' I mouth and pick up another fork. Lucia nods approvingly and turns back to converse with her neighbour. Sighing loudly, I roll my eyes and begin to pick at the lumps of suspicious looking meat on my plate.

It's been nearly a year since I became a Victor in the 74th Annual Hunger Games, along with Cato, my district partner and boyfriend. Well, kind of boyfriend, if you can even put a label on our relationship. It's complicated, I guess, complications all over. We'd been getting closer when we'd been back home in District 2, living in our adjoining houses in the Victor's Village. After our day's work at the training centres, giving one on one training to the specially gifted younger kids hoping to volunteer, we'd spend most evenings together, talking, laughing, watching TV and just enjoying being in each other's company. For two ex-killers who were now symbols of the Capitol's triumph, it had been nice. Especially the kissing parts. Which came often and always swept my breath away.

Then, we'd been summoned to the Capitol for the socialising season and everything was now falling slowly apart again. Cato had been going out in the evenings without me and coming back in the dead of night. I'd lie in my bed, listening out for him, an ocean of covers spilling over me, trying to build up the courage to go out and confront him about where he had been going. I hadn't yet. In the day, he just seemed so distracted and distant. When I tried to hold his hand or touch his neck in the way he liked, he jerked away from my touch, as if it burned him and that hurt more than I'd ever let on, to him or anyone.

The ornate grandfather-clock in the corner of the ornate dining room strikes nine and, for the millionth time that evening, my gaze trails away to the door. Watching and waiting. Any moment now, my mind keeps stubbornly telling me. He'll walk in. He'll be here. He promised.

The door stays closed.

Angry tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall and I drag my eyes away from the door, furiously and stab my fork at a miniature potato, smothered in rich gravy and butter. I focus as best I can on my plate, the pointless, wittering conversations around me, the goddamn stitched white roses tinted with red on the table cloth in front of me. Anything, in fact, that will distract me from having to accept the painful reality. The place setting beside me is going to remain empty.

I pace back and forth across the plush carpet in our Capitol apartment. My feet are bare, just as I like them to be, so I can feel every fibre that runs over my soles. I like it because it reminds me that I can feel. I am not an ivory statue, with no emotions or opinions. I'm a person. And sooner or later, I'm going to break.

The time on my golden watch (a present from President Snow for Christmas, usually I don't wear it but I needed to tonight) reads nearly midnight. This is the usual time that Cato comes back from wherever the hell it is that he goes but this time I am ready for him. I am wearing a silky deep purple nightdress, a ridiculous Capitol item I found in the drawer and a navy, oversized, knitted cardigan that I brought from home. As I wring my hands together, a waft of scent comes up to meet my nostrils. It smells like home. I sniff, then angrily streak my hand over my eyes, determined not to cry.

'You're a Career, Clove,' I mutter to myself. 'You can do this.'

The slam of the lift door makes me jump and my nail jerks, digging into the skin at the side of my thumb. I stick it in my mouth to suck away the blood, my heart now thumping violently. Underneath my cardigan, I finger the handles of the half dozen knives I have in my pockets.

Slowly, the door of our apartment creaks open, and Cato's blonde head sneaks in. he jumps, startled to see me, and then tries for a half smile.

'I didn't think you'd still be up,' he says, casually, but I have not been partners with Cato for nearly five years and not be able to tell when he's under strain.

'Guess I'm not really tired,' I answer, shrugging.

'Uh huh.' I can hear the tension in his voice.

'Yeah,' I continue, moving around the dining table, letting my finger trail along the smooth wood. 'It's not like I've been doing anything that energetic tonight. Only,' here, my emotions betray me and my voice begins to creep up in tone, 'been to a party at one of the head gamemaker's house.' I look up at him. 'You remember. You were invited.'

'I remember, Clove.'

'Do you also remember promising me that you'd be there?' There is strange lightness to my voice that scares even me slightly. 'Because I do.'

'Yes.' He sounds tired. 'I remember.'

'Then why,' I hiss, my hand clenching around the first knife in my pocket, 'the _hell… __**were you… not…THERE**_?' I let go of the knife and it goes flying across the room, sinking into the wall, centimetres from Cato's face. Cato flinches, and then abruptly moves away from the wall, making towards his bedroom.

'_Don't_ you **DARE **walk away from me!' I scream, thundering after him, a second knife already in my palm. I twist it and it soars, following the path of the first one, directly towards Cato's head. He turns, just before it hits the back of his head and ducks away from the blade. Before I have time to react, he darts across the room towards me, snatching my wrists and pinning me to the wall. I struggle, kicking out at him, scratting at his hands with my nails.

'Let go of me!'

'No,' he growls, but his iron grip on me loosens. 'You throw knives, I hold you. That's the way it works.'

'No it's not.'

'I think you'll find it is, Clovely.'

I stare him straight in the eye and bring my knee swiftly up to hit him where it hurts. Cato gasps and drops me instantly. I duck under his arm and spin into the centre of the room, another knife ready and waiting in my palm. Cato's chest rises and falls heavily and I can see beads of sweat on his forehead. I like that. I like that I was a challenge for him.

'Where have you been?' I ask, my voice low and full of danger.

'It's none of your business,' he replies, as sharp as one of our blades.

'Oh, I think it is,' I laugh, a bitter laugh that echoes around us. 'Seeing as the fact that you were and not with me there meant that I was sitting,' my voice rises again, 'ALONE, in the fucking party without you when you'd _promised _me that you'd be there!' When I finish, I am close to screaming.

'I don't need to explain myself to you!' Cato shouts back.

'Oh, I think you do,' I shriek, totally losing my self-control, rage contorting my mind. 'Because if you don't…'

'What?' Cato throws up his hands and gives a hysterical laugh. 'What the hell will you do, Clove? Throw away my sword? Break up with me?'

'Maybe I will,' I break in, my one remaining hand balled up into a fist. 'You'd like that wouldn't you? Then you can go back to whatever Capitol whore you were with tonight without having a guilty conscience about leaving me.'

'You really think that was where I was?'

'If you're not going to tell me the truth, then yes!' I stamp my foot and instantly regret it. What a childish action. 'I'll make an assumption based on your previous actions.'

'Well, fine!' Cato's smile is pinned on and I can see the pain behind his grin. 'Think what you want! This isn't working out, is it? We're over.'

'Were we ever started?' I bite back, bile choking at my throat.

'Good point,' he snarls, before turning on his heel and storming out the door, slamming it behind him. It makes the paintings on the walls tremble and one painted vase at the end of the table falls off, smashing to the floor. I breathe, in and out, in and out, trying to calm the furious heat that is rushing through my brain.

My legs are shaking and I feel numb, so incredibly numb. _What the hell have I done?_

I bring my hands up to my cheeks and am shocked at how cold they are, compared with the intense heat I feel inside. My fingers are shaking as I bring them over to cover my eyes in horror. My breath comes out in ugly, shivering sobs that cloud my brain, making it hard for me to comprehend what just happened.

_Cato and I broke up._

But were we even together anyway?

_You broke up._

What was there to break?

_Broke up._

I don't understand.

_Broken._

The deafening reality sets in and I slump onto the floor, my knife beside me, staring at the door, hoping that he'll come back, tell me that he's sorry and take me in his arms. Kiss me and make me whole again. But he doesn't.

I am broken.

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**Well then, what did you think? Any feedback or comments are very much appreciated and I hope you enjoyed it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Second part is done! Do you like it? I know it's not as good as the first part but, trust me, I'm building it up. Read, review (please?) and enjoy!**

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That night, I fall asleep on the floor. Lying on the plush, white fur rug, I shiver my way through the night, my toes curled up underneath me, my fingers gripping the fibres as if they would save me from drowning in the seas of my own despair. They don't. I drown anyway.

It seems like an eon before the sun starts to come up, through the floor to ceiling windows on the west side of the apartment. I watch it come up, blinking my dry eyes at the bright light patiently, waiting for a time that could be called appropriate to get up and start moving about.

I don't cry. I'd have liked to; I'd have liked to have screamed and raged, breaking everything in my sight, cursing the very birth of Cato Burgh until the morning when I had nothing left to let out. Emotion was something that had always come easily to me, far too easily and when it came it took me away with it, riding on a hurricane of disaster that rocked my world at it's core. But I didn't, not this time. I felt completely numb and unfeeling, like Cato had sucked the part of me that could feel away when he'd stormed out last night. It made me feel sick to my stomach; the idea that he still held a piece of me inside him when I wanted nothing more to do with him at all.

It was Lucia who found me in the end. I'd forgotten, completely forgotten, that we were leaving on the train the next morning. She bustles in, her skin tight dress making her legs turn inwards and she wobbles dangerously on her infinitely high heels when she sees me.

'Clove, darling, what on earth are you doing?' she screeches, hurrying over to snatch my arm and yank me upright, my legs folding over each other. 'You're as cold as ice, why aren't you in bed?'

'I just didn't get there last night,' I mutter, rubbing my hands up my arms. She's right. I feel like I've been sleeping in a snowdrift.

'What do you mean, dear? Where's Cato?' She clips away, her heels clattering on the wooden floor, to our bedrooms, peeking in one door after the other. 'Why didn't he get you into bed? Where is he?'

I close my eyes and bite my lip.

'Clove, dear?' I can hear the impatience in her voice. 'Where is he?'

'He's not here!' I snap, spinning to face her. 'Okay? Do you understand? He's _not_ here.'

Lucia stares at me in shock for a second before shaking her head. 'What do you mean, 'he's not here'? Where's he gone?'

'How should I know? It's not as if he cared to tell me.' The bitterness in my tone is tangible and it makes Lucia wince. 'He'd never tell me, what am I to him?'

Lucia stops, hesitates.

'Did you two have a fight?' she asks carefully. I tug at a loose thread on my cardigan and say nothing. 'It's alright if you did, darling…'

'No, it's not alright!' I shriek at her. 'Of course it's not alright, it's never going to be alright again!'

'Now, now, I think you're over-reacting slightly.'

'Over-reacting?' I laugh, running my fingers through my tangled birds nest of hair. 'You know nothing! Absolutely nothing! I always ruin everything I have and now I've ruined the one thing that I thought I couldn't lose. Cato hates me!'

'Oh no, I'm sure he doesn't…'

'He does, he does!' A sob catches me off guard and I gasp aloud. I can't cry in front of Lucia. That would be far more humiliating than I could bear. I take a breathe and steady myself, turning my back on Lucia and storming into my bedroom. Inside, I grab my suitcase off the floor and start throwing items of clothing in randomly, uncaring about how they fit together. Lucia hovers in the doorway, anxiously. 'He hates me,' I repeat, digging my finger nails into the skin at the side of my fingers.

'He can't.'

I spin around, my head thumping. 'Wh-what?'

Lucia folds her arms over her chest and stares at me. 'There is no way, on this earth, that Cato hates you. There are many others that he hates, Heaven knows, more than ones he doesn't. He probably hates me. But not you. He could never, ever hate you. Do you know why, Clove? Do you know how I know that?'

I shake my head, wordlessly. I've never heard Lucia speak so strongly, so harshly. 'No.'

Lucia takes a step towards me. 'The way he acted in the Arena. I have seen so many tributes just forget about their district partners once they're there. They've been coached to work together by their trainers, to be a team, but once they're in that arena they just go for one another.' She pauses. 'Like savages. People who thought only of themselves and their own interests. I suppose that is only natural given the circumstances…But then with Cato…he was different. So completely different. Every move he made he had you in his consideration. That was incredible, Clove. I've never seen anything like it, the way he…cared about you.'

I turn away, concentrating on packing. I don't want to be reminded of my days in the arena. If anything, I'd much rather pretend they'd never happened but I knew that was impossible. After all, the victory tour was next month. That was designed to remind me of the Games.

'Clove…it was amazing. After all these years, I never thought I'd get a pair of tributes…who could love.'

'_Love_?' I scoff, snapping the lid of my case shut. 'You really think he actually loves me?'

'I don't think, dear, I know.'

'What would you know about us? What would anyone know about Cato and I? More importantly, why should they know? It's none of your business!' I yell, snatching my hairbrush from the bed and hurling it at the wall. I wasn't aiming for Lucia, but she flinches as if I hit her. My chest rises and falls, out of tune with the thudding of the blood in my head. 'He hates me,' I repeat like a stuck record.

'There's a very thin line between love and hate, you know, Clove,' Lucia replies. Her voice is steady and as hard as steel, which is highly unnerving. The silence pulses around us.

'We're leaving the station at eleven, sharp.'

Lucia leaves as quickly as she'd arrived, her shoes clopping, her hair bouncing, leaving me standing in a nightie and a cardigan, with everything that I'd thought I'd known crumbling around me.

The train journey is tedious, to say the least. I sulk in my room, wallowing in the silken sheets and eating all the chocolate I can find in the mini-fridge under the desk. Cato always turned his nose up at any kind of chocolate.

'Gives you spots,' he said.

I shove another square of it into my mouth.

Outside, I can hear the soft voice of Lucia talking to someone who I can only assume is Cato. My theory is confirmed when another voice breaks into hers, and there is a smashing noise. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps thumping down the hallway and the door to Cato's bedroom slams.

I've successfully avoided him since our fight last night but I'm unsure over how long that can last. I can't hide in my room forever.

The train pulls into the District Two station and I linger as long as I can, packing things and then repacking them, in a vain attempt to avoid going out of my room at the same time as Cato. I am successful. When I emerge from my room and drag my bags into the dining car to get off the train, I can see a tall, strapping figure somewhere off into the distance, his blonde hair reflecting the sunlight as he bobs slowly out of view. I notice his shirt straining over his back and swallow back the saliva that had collected in my mouth.

Snap out of it, I tell myself severely. You let him go. You have only yourself to blame.

Furiously, I yank my bag over my shoulder and stomp down the ramp and onto the soil of District Two. My home. The one place I feel that I can be myself and not get judged. Well. Kind of.

As I walk down the streets to the Victor's Village, my new home, people stop what they are doing to stare at me. I ignore them, concentrating on where I am putting my feet, but the constant strain of their eyes on my back is beginning to test my patience. I can just imagine their thoughts:

Why is she alone?

Where's the boy?

I thought they were together?

Something must have happened between them.

Poor girl.

I grit my teeth and quicken my steps. If there is anything that I cannot stand, it is pity. I do not want to be pampered, babied or, worst of all, pitied. I don't need their pity. They have nothing to pity me for.

The Victor's Village in District Two is a crescent shaped housing complex to the east of the train station, built around a silver edged pond in the middle. In that pond are goldfish with real golden scales, just to fit in with the design of the estate. They were specially modified by the Capitol, just to go in our pond. The houses themselves are really rather ordinary: two-storied with three bedrooms (as if we'd have enough guests to fill them), with a wooden gable hanging over the front of the house and a small front yard filled to bursting with red roses. The only extraordinary thing about the Victor's homes, I suppose, is that they are entirely golden, from the paintwork to the pathways leading up to the front doors. It's a design scheme, to bring up the class of the area, but it is pretty dire.

I turn the corner into the Village, my hair bouncing on my shoulders and nearly drop my bag in shock. Coming out of Cato's house, the house that I'd spent so much time in over the past few months, are three Peacekeepers and each is carrying a cardboard box.

'Hey!' I shout. All three jump and glance up like deer caught in the hunter's line of sight. I start to run towards them, leaving my bag far behind me. 'Just what do you think you're doing?' I demand, storming over. 'Who said you could go in there?'

'Uh, it was Mr Burgh,' one of the Peacekeepers mutters. 'He asked us to…'

'Cato let you go into his house?' I question, credulously. 'That's crazy. He'd never do that. And what are you even carrying…?' My voice trails off as the Peacekeeper whose box I am grabbing slowly lowers it for me to see it. Inside, there are several items of clothing. A white dress, an oatmeal cardigan, a pair of black training trousers. They are my clothes. The ones I leave at Cato's for when I stay the night and need fresh things in the morning. He let me use one of his drawers and promised never to peak.

'I know you ladies like your privacy,' he'd teased me.

Now, here they all were. Going back into my house. I step back from the box, shocked into silence. The Peacekeepers eyed each other warily.

'We haven't looked, miss,' one of them assures me and I nearly laugh out loud. That is what they think I'm worried about. Whether they've been sneaking glances at my private property. 'I swear to you. We haven't.'

'Yes, yes, whatever,' I snap, waving my hand at them. 'Just…put them down on the carpet somewhere.'

'We could help you unpack…' one of them starts to offer.

'No!' I practically hiss, then calm myself. 'No. Just put them down and get out.'

They oblige, even closing the oak door behind them once they leave. The slam echoes around the house, bouncing off the empty walls and growing louder with every second. All it does is remind me of how alone I am.

I've never really spent much time in my own Victor's house; when I wasn't at the training centre, I was at Cato's house. I realise, with a jolt, that since I've become a victor, I've never really been alone until now. There was always someone wanting to speak to me, interview me or get something from me in the Capitol, back home there were the trainees, trainers and people in the towns to speak with. And then of course, there was Cato. The boy who'd been my best friend, the man that I could have loved.

Drifting around my empty rooms, I feel like a ghost, observing someone else's life. Everything I pick up doesn't feel like it belongs to me. The clothes I pull on smell like a stranger. I perch on the edge of my bed, confused. The woollen quilt underneath me is scratchy and itching under my fingertips but I don't care. At least I'm feeling something.

A movement outside the window catches my eye. My window overlooks the house next door, which is Cato's. I don't move my head. There is a window directly opposite my bedroom window and, from the side, I think I can see a figure through the curtains. I rise steadily from the bed and move over to the open window. Clutching at the golden wood of the window frame, I stare out into the early evening. I don't know why my heart is beating so hard.

The window opposite is now empty.

And it probably always was.

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**Why do you think Cato's ignoring her? And where was he when they were in the Capitol? Any ideas? Do let me know! Thank you for reading :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone, how are you all? I'm sorry this took so long but I was very busy this week with school stuff but here it is! Thank you all so much for the reviews. I read every single one and they really brighten up my day. I hope you enjoy reading this part and please let me know any thoughts you have. Enjoy reading it and thank you.**

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Routine is something I have always loved. I love how things can always have a place, a time and a way that they should be done and it was one of the only things that I took delight in. Everything that I took part in would have to have a routine and, once people knew me well enough, they did not stand in my way or object to it.

Once upon a time, Cato had been the same. That had been one of the reasons why we'd gotten on so well; we were both utterly dedicated to making sure that our lives were planned down to the smallest detail and that nothing was ever out of place.

Now though, all that seems to have changed. Once we got back from the Capitol, Cato and I, as the respected Victors, were supposed to visit the training centre every day to give specialised training to those who were planning on volunteering. I'd always known it would be challenging, I can hardly stand to be around people of my own age, let alone younger, more irritating children. What I hadn't been expecting was the fact that I would have to be going all on my own.

Every morning, as I stepped outside of my house in the Victor's Village and turned the ivory key in the gold lock and placed it in my pocket, I'd fight my urge to glance up at Cato's window, willing him to look out and I'd be able to see him, just once. He never does though. So I turn away and make my way down to the training centre on my own. Cato had never turned up for any session, but to be honest not one strand of his sandy blonde hair appeared anywhere outside of his house anyway. It made me furious, that I was up, busting a gut to train double the potential tributes (as I'd had to take on his protégées as well as my own when he'd made it clear he'd be a no show) while he sulked around inside all day.

In a way, I knew it was mostly my fault and, if that was possible, knowing that just seemed to make things worse. Guilt was an odd emotion for me, one that hit me somewhere between the base of my throat and my heart, a long, hollow pain that bore straight through my body making me want to curl up in a ball and wallow in self-pity. But I couldn't do that, and I knew it all too well. I kept on leaving the house, going to the centre, training the kids (and struggling not to strangle them in the process) and then eating my lunch with our head trainer, Xanthus. After lunch, I did a bit of training on my own; Xanthus made sure I had my own private room and dummies to make sure that my skills didn't get rusty. You never know when they'd come in handy. It made me feel infinitely better too, although I'd never dare admit it, to be back with my knives again, hearing the satisfying thud as they sunk into the backboard. It was almost therapeutic. Once I'd thrown my fill, I walked back home again. People would see me as I went past, but I kept my head high and ignored them. As soon as I was back in the safe haven of my own home, I didn't really do much. I'd maybe fix myself an evening meal, perhaps watch some television, a luxury I'd never really had before. Mainly, I was simply waiting for a time that would be counted as acceptable to go to bed.

Every night, I'd lie in the middle of my double bed, twisting the covers around my fingers anxiously, waiting for the inevitable moment when I would hear the creak of Cato's front door open and footsteps leading away from the house and towards the town, almost exactly as it had been back in the Capitol. Every night, I'd grit my teeth and roll over onto my side, my mind already creating elaborate fantasies of where he was going, who he was seeing. The pain of not knowing felt like it was eating away at my insides so much that I knew I would have to do something about it before it killed me.

It was over a month of long, routine days after our return from the Capitol when I finally made up my mind that I could not wait any longer. That night, I stayed in my clothes as I waited, patiently, for the click of the door that told me Cato was on the move. It came, just as I knew it would, a few minutes after half past eleven. I made sure that I left enough time before I started following him, counting to sixty under my breath twice, and then I carefully opened my own door and made my way after him.

Cato's silhouette was flanked by the tall trees that lined the roads leading from the Victors Village to the town; I could see that he was wearing only a t-shirt and trousers, which made me shiver. It was a cold, dark night and there was a chilly wind blowing in from the west, hissing onto my skin. I ignored it and carried on following Cato, but making sure that I kept at a safe distance so he didn't see me. I probably needn't have worried. He was so focused on wherever it was he was going that he never looked back.

Not even once.

My feet have to quicken as Cato's start taking fuller steps when we pass through the residential area. We pass my old home, empty and deserted. I force my eyes away and keep on. I stop.

Damn!

I've lost him. He's gone. But where to? Where is there for him to go? My eyes flit back and forth desperately, scanning the night for any clues he may have left to help me find my way. Panic sets in and I am in danger of losing my control totally and bursting into childish, stupid tears when a soft click somewhere down in the shrubbery to my left makes me jump. Cautiously, I move over and part the bushes to peer in. Set in the grass is a steel trapdoor, with a heavy metal bolt. My breathing steadies. It's just another entrance to the training centre. But why is Cato visiting the centre at night and not in the day? Unless he's wanting to avoid me…

Gritting my teeth, I slide the bolt and pull the trap door up. It's heavy but I didn't win the Hunger Games for nothing. Wriggling forward, I drop myself into the shaft under the trapdoor and feel my feet jar onto the metal floor of the training centre. I wince, but give them a little shake and set off down the corridor which is lined with sleek mirrors, in search of Cato.

It doesn't take me long to find him. Sound travels surprisingly well in the emptiness of night and, mix that with metal's excellent conductive skills, I could hear the slices and thuds extremely well as Cato's sword slammed into the practice dummies over and over again. Soon, the noises were coming from almost directly beside me. My sense of direction and my knowledge of the centre that I'd spent most my teenage years in told me that on the other side of the door that I had now come across was the main training room. Must have been why the acoustics were so good.

I took a deep breath and readied myself. This was it. The long hours I'd spent agonising over what had happened, where he was, what I'd done wrong, how I could put it right…they were about to be all over. I push open the door.

Cato is wearing his old training outfit, the one he'd always wear when we went training together. I haven't seen him for several weeks and, if it is even possible, he's grown more handsome. His hair is longer than it was before and it could just be the light but I think it might be darker as well. Did he dye it? Just looking at him makes my body lurch with a strange wanting that is screaming out to be fulfilled. Before I have a chance to supress it though, Cato turns around.

His sword drops with a clatter and he takes a quick step back, both startled and somehow scared.

'Clove,' he says and I realise with a jolt that it's the first word he's said to me since before we left the Capitol. His voice is still exactly the same, except maybe a little hoarser and it brings back so many memories of what he's said to me.

_'It's alright we can do this.'_

_'We're stronger than they are.'_

_'__**Clove**__! Stay with me, Clove, please, stay with me!'_

_'I'd give my life to protect you.'_

_'You look so beautiful.'_

_'We're over.'_

'What are you doing here?' is all he says now, his voice dangerously level. 'Why are you here?'

'I came to see you,' I say, taking a step towards him. 'I needed to see you, I needed to know…'

'How did you find me?'

Shit.

I flush and stare down at my shoes. 'I, um, tracked you.'

'Tracked?' I can practically hear his raised eyebrow. 'Do you mean followed?'

'Look, whatever,' I snap. 'The point is, that I want to ask you something.'

'What then?'

'Where were you when we were in the Capitol?'

Cato stops and I see his chest heave out. He picks up the sword from the floor and carries it to the stand, placing it carefully in it's slot. I follow, like an indignant puppy.

'Are you going to tell me?' I demand, doubling my pace to keep up with him as he circuits the room. 'Because if you don't then you know that I'll just make my own assumptions.' Cato stops at the knife station and picks one up. I recognise it. It's one I brought for the centre after we became Victors. 'Was the slut you were with pretty?' My tone rises. 'Was she smart? Funny?' Cato stares at the knife, his fingers trembling. 'Was she more beautiful than me?'

'NO!' Cato suddenly screams and the knife whizzes past my ear and sinks into the wall. I stop, my heart suddenly racing at a thousand miles an hour and stare at him. 'No, Clove, she wasn't. Because she never existed. I wasn't…with a woman. I wasn't with anybody.'

'What do you mean?' I ask softly.

'I was alone.'

'In a bar?'

'No! Would you just shut up for a minute and listen to me? I was on the rooftop of the apartment block. Every night. On my own. While you went out to the parties, all dolled up and gorgeous, I sat up on the roof until I heard you come back home. Then I'd go back down and into my room.'

We stand, frozen, for a few seconds before Cato brushes past me to collect the knife from the wall. 'Why?' I ask, my voice trembling.

'You'll think I'm stupid.'

'Does that really matter? You and your stupid masculine pride! Did you not want to be around me? Do I disgust you? Am I that ugly?'

'Have you ever stopped to think that it might not be about you?' he yells at me. 'You're so selfish, Clove! It's about me! I couldn't handle it, the stares, the dressing up, the stupid parties! I couldn't stand it, so I left it. Did my own thing. Weak Cato, who couldn't handle being a Victor.' His shoulders sink with resignation. 'Are you finally happy now?'

'No, I'm fucking well not!' He jumps at how loud my voice is. 'How dare you? Me, selfish, when you're the one who left me, alone, to cope with everything on my own? How the hell did you think I felt, being dressed up like a doll, paraded for the Capitol's amusement?' my voice starts to break as I remember it all. 'And I had to do it on my own.'

'I didn't think…'

'What, that because I didn't say anything that it wasn't affecting me? You can be so stupid sometimes, you know that? Why didn't you tell me? We could have worked it out.'

'I didn't think you'd care, okay?' he snaps, slamming his fist on the table and sending a tray of knives skimming over the floor. One scratches by my ankle and I instantly feel the warmth of my blood ooze onto my trousers. Cato buries his head in his hands.

'You didn't think I'd care?' I dig my fingernails into the skin of my thumb and look up at him. 'At one of the parties, President Snow came up to me.' Slowly, Cato's head rises out of his hands and he looks up at me. 'He asked where you were and I didn't know. But I knew that if I said that you'd get into trouble, big trouble, and you might get…hurt.' I meet his eyes over the knife tray. 'So I said that you were ill, and couldn't come. He told me to tell you he sent his best wishes, by the way.' I meant for it to have a sarcastic tone, my signature style, but instead it just sounds bitter and emotional.

'You lied for me?' he asks.

'Yes. That way if he ever finds out that I lied to him we'll both go down. Not just you.'

Cato has moved so that we are mere centimetres apart. I can smell the musty scent of him mingling with sweat and it tickles at my nostrils. 'Why did you do that?' he asks, his voice barely a murmur.

'Why? I honestly don't know. Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe I was just far to in love with you to be thinking straight-'

I never finish the sentence.

Before I have a chance to breath, Cato has broken the short distance between us and has crushed his lips onto mine. A short electric shock flies from my mouth down to my hands and I give into the urge to hold him. My hands move up to curl around his neck and I lift myself up so we are pressed, shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart. Cato pushes me back until I slam into the wall, our lips still together but his arm is above me, forced onto the wall.

'Do you know,' he breathes. 'How long I've wanted to do this?'

'What was stopping you?'

'What do you think?' he laughs lightly and kisses me again. 'My stupid masculine pride, of course.'

I laugh back, looping my arms around his neck again and losing myself in his kiss. Cato's arms move down past my waist and swing me up, his rough fingers pressing into my back like they were made to fit there. Deliberately, Cato turns, with me still in his arms, and walks away from the knife station and back towards the store cupboard where the weapons are stored.

I break away from the kiss and brush my fingers through his hair. 'Where are we going?'

'Somewhere that we can be alone,' he grunts, kicking the door open with one foot, still balancing me in his arms.

'We're in the training centre, underground, at midnight. There's not exactly anyone to disturb us.'

He drops me, quite hard, on a mat that is used for combat training and falls down beside me, so that we are facing each other but his arm is straddled over my waist. 'Not now there isn't. But I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon.'

I wake to the rhythmic breathing of the lungs beneath the chest I was sleeping on. For a second, my body freezes rigid, forgetting where I am, but then I remember and relax. It's alright. I'm with Cato.

The light streaming in from the small horizontal window at the top of the wall of the storage cupboard lets me know that it's early morning, probably around seven. If this had been any ordinary day, I'd already be up and dressed, possibly on my way to the training centre. But this is not an ordinary morning. And I'm already at the training centre. So.

I stretch, lazily like a cat, and snake my arm around so that it is lying over his bare chest. It is warm and rises softly, reminding me that he is human. Completely human. Smiling, I tuck my chin on top of his chest and run my finger in smooth circles over his abs, knowing from experience that it never fails to wake him. A miniscule smile spreads onto his face and a small shiver runs down his body but his eyes stay firmly shut.

'I know you're awake,' I say.

'Five more minutes.'

'No, wake up.'

His eyes flicker open and he groans at the sudden light. 'What a sight.'

'Well thank you,' I huff.

'What an improved sight,' he corrects himself, hurriedly.

'That's better.' Cato grins and lifts his hand to stroke through my hair. Normally, I'd bat him off, protesting that I'm not a kitten but today is not normal. Besides, it actually feels really good.

'I missed this,' he says, startling me. 'I missed you.'

'Don't get soppy on me,' I order. 'Besides, you were the one who…'

'But if I recall…'

'Alright!' I stop him with a wave of my hand. 'We're drawing a line under it. It's done, okay? Over with.'

'Fine,' he grumbles, but his hands still continue to fawn through my hair, lifting it up and letting strands drift back through his fingers to fall on my bare shoulder. We lie like this for a while, my leg wrapped over his, resting on his chest with one arm falling over his side while his hand is curled protectively around my neck. It feels like home, like how we lay in the Arena when we needed each other's body heat for survival. It still feels like a survival, but a different kind.

'Clove?'

'What?'

'Last night, you said something…'

'I said a lot of things last night, Cato, I think it's best if you forgot some of them.'

'…you said that you loved me.'

Ah. That. I'd completely forgotten.

'In fact,' Cato continues, 'you said that you loved me too much.' He twists his head so that we are nose to nose. 'Clove, did you mean that?'

I pause, twirling my fingers through my shirt. 'Yes. I love you too much. Far too much. I actually don't think it's possible to love someone as much as I love you.'

'I think it is,' he replies. 'Because it's how much I love you. Far too much.'

'Says the man who left me alone…'

'I thought we weren't talking about that anymore!' He squeezes my waist gently. 'I know, I know…It was bad of me. But, during that…time…that we weren't talking, it hurt me so much, not to talk to you. I thought you hated me, that you'd never want to be near me again.'

'I never hated you,' I say. 'I thought _you_ hated _me_.'

'I love you.'

I tilt my chin up and kiss him full on the mouth, hard and deep. 'I love you too,' I tell him, staring directly into his eyes, just so he knows that I mean it.

There is a glint in Cato's eye and he is (probably) just about to kiss me back when there is a pounding on the floor outside the storage room. My head shoots up from Cato's chest, my heart thumping wildly. I strain my ears and feel a heavy feeling sink from my head down to my toes as I hear Xanthus' voice calling out to the younger trainees as their feet clatter across the cold metal of the training centre floor. It is obviously later than we'd thought.

I stare at Cato in horror. 'How are we going to get out? If we just walk out of here then they'll know that we were here all night together. This is awful.'

'Will it really be that bad?' Cato sits up, his eyes sparkling with mischief. I punch him hard in the chest.

'YES.'

'Alright, alright.' Before he shoves me off, he pulls me in quickly for another kiss. 'Listen, I've got a plan.'

It is at that moment, as he has drawn me in and is whispering an escape route into my ear in his soft, husky tone that I realise that I am not broken any more. My body feels as if it had been missing a half and now, with Cato beside me, I feel that that half has been returned to me.

I am not broken.

With Cato, I am whole.

* * *

**Aw, I tried to end it slightly less depressing, even though they're slightly ooc. It did get a bit, ahem, hot at the end there but I hope you liked that bit ;) I hope you enjoyed this final chapter. Yes, final. I'm afraid it's over now, although I am already planning another AU so hopefully that will go okay. Thank you all so much again for your kind reviews and for staying with this silly little started-out-as-a-drabble-and-turned-into-something-else story. I can't thank you all enough. **

**Love, Isabelle**


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